


Take Me Home

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Resident Evil, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Presumed Dead, Resident Evil 5, Sterek Week 2016, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: It happened before Derek could process it. Peter’s hand was dropping him to the ground. He stumbled backwards as he saw Peter carelessly moving towards the window. It was when the window made a shattering noise that Derek saw that Stiles was the one with his arms around Peter’s torso, tackling him out the window.And in a second, it was all over.“Stiles!”White noise burned in Derek’s ears as he ran towards the shattered window. He collapsed against the lip of the window as he looked over the drop, desperate for a sign of life among the rocky water below.There was nothing.Stiles was gone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! Here is my entry for the first day of Sterek Week 2016! Without further ado, my fic for Scene Stealer, featuring Sterek Resident Evil 5 AU.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! It was a blast to write.

Stiles focused on the lock, feeding the pick into the tumbler with ease. He listened to Derek talking on the radio, his mind buzzing with the thought of finally being able to confront Peter after all this time. He knew how important this was for Derek, that there was a chance that they could end the nightmare that still hung over them.

Derek saw the small smirk pulling at the corner of Stiles’ lips before he turned the pick, clicking the tumbler into unlocking the door. He nodded at Stiles when he stood up.

“We’re in,” Stiles informed headquarters, his hand resting on the doorknob.

“Copy that,” the radio transmitter answered. “Keep an eye out for hostiles. Remember, this is a retrieval only. If you make contact with Peter Hale, do not engage. Retreat and wait for backup.”

Stiles looked at Derek, holding his gaze. He knew the look on Derek’s face—it had been a look that haunted Derek’s features since this all started back in Beacon Hills. It wasn’t fear, nor was it compliance, it was an understanding that whatever happened tonight was going to mean the end of their shared nightmare.

Derek nodded to Stiles, glad that he faintly nodded in acceptance before quickly pushing open the door.

~*~

The mansion was an exact replica of the one in Beacon Hills. It was nearly identical in every way, even in its sickly demented puzzles and creatures lurking throughout it.

Stiles had to hold back his snort when they encountered the piano room. It had been pure luck that he remembered his piano lessons his mother slaved away trying to get him to pay attention to. He peered at the music sheets, recognizing the notes as Moonlight Sonata.

“Think you can still play it?” Derek asked.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” Stiles answered as he holstered his handgun. He poised his fingers over the keys, taking a deep breath before beginning. He pressed down on the keys, remembering to follow through on the execution as old Mrs. Anderson always chastised him about. He heard Derek move over to the door already lowering from the proper melody being played out. He scoffed under his breath, hating how obnoxious it was to have a door locked via piano keys.

“I didn’t know you kept up with it,” Derek stated, looking from the lowering door to Stiles. He watched the way Stiles’ shoulder blades moved with every key he hit.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Stiles answered, still trying to concentrate enough to read the notes on the sheet in front of him.

“I didn’t know,” Derek uttered, feeling guilty that he hadn’t been around as much as he should have been lately. The moment Lydia handed him the file on Peter, he practically started living at the office, exhausting all resources to try and get more information on Peter.

“The whole point to a surprise is making sure you don’t know about it,” Stiles answered, knowing Derek felt guilty for everything—for being in this mansion again; for the past month.

Stiles had gotten into a fight with Lydia when he had found the file. He knew something was wrong in the previous days—Derek hadn’t been home in days, constantly calling to cancel plans, or sending the stray text to let Stiles know he was crashing on the couch in his office. He had enough when he looked over Derek’s recent file searches and found it. He didn’t care how annoyed Lydia was with him when he barged passed Allison and into the meeting, slamming the file onto her desk.

“I told you to give this to someone else,” Stiles had seethed once it was just the three of them, glaring daggers at Lydia for all of it.

“Derek deserved to know,” Lydia reasoned.

“Bullshit!” Stiles snapped. “You want Peter off the playing field, and you know that Derek is the only one dedicated enough to find him and go after him.”

“He’s left a trail of corpses, Stiles,” Allison had tried to placate him.

“And you’re not adding Derek to them,” Stiles viciously countered. “You find someone else to sacrifice for your greater good. We’re both done with field work.” He turned on his heel, moving to leave both women behind.

“He found him,” Lydia announced, knowing Stiles would hesitate. “He’s going to be at another one of Deaton’s excluded estates,” she explained. “There was a 48 hour window of opportunity before he slips away for good. There are only 37 hours left as of now.”

Stiles shook his head, leaving without offering another word.

“I never thanked you,” Derek stated when Stiles’ fingers finally left the keys.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles answered, not looking at Derek as he drew his weapon again, moving to take point.

Derek grabbed his elbow, stopping him from heading into the other room. “Stiles—”

“I love you,” Stiles abruptly interrupted Derek, looking up at him. “What did you think I was going to say when you told me you were coming here?” He carefully evaluated Derek’s features, hating how similar he looked to a kicked puppy. “I nearly didn’t survive the incident in the Preserve, Derek. Not because of the monsters, or even Peter’s attempt to use me as bait for you. The whole time we were apart for that night— I kept thinking that you might be injured, or worse, dead. I kept thinking I was going to stumble across your corpse, or maybe never see you again and never know what happened.” He took a deep breath, looking down at where Derek’s hand held his own. “I wasn’t going to let you come here alone, or with someone else being your backup. We’re partners—and I was never going to make you face Peter alone.” He looked back up at Derek, pinning him with a painfully open expression, one that told Derek he wasn’t mad at him, he wasn’t even annoyed—he was scared. He was scared of losing Derek before they even got a chance to call each other their own.

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles’ hand, running his thumb along Stiles’ knuckles in a soothing manner. “When this is all over, it will just be you and me for a whole month. I won’t even bring my phone with me.”

Stiles released a faint huff of laughter. “Lydia would still find us.”

“Then I’d finally tell her to go to hell,” Derek replied, wanting Stiles to know he was serious. The moment this mission was closed, the paperwork filed, Derek wouldn’t look back. It would all be in his past, and he would gladly start his future with Stiles, slate completely clean.

Stiles pressed a soft kiss to Derek’s lips, wishing they were anywhere but here. “I’ll hold you to that,” he simply stated as he cupped Derek’s cheek. “I expect it in your wedding vow.”

Derek lightly chuckled, kissing Stiles one last time before they had to inevitably move forward.

~*~

It all happened too fast to follow. Derek opened fire the minute Peter started to come towards them. Stiles followed Derek’s lead, firing a few shots off as he fanned out to the side to hinder Peter’s chances of hitting them both.

Peter was inhumanly fast, dodging almost every shot they fired. He was caught off guard by a few, annoyed with the limitations of his body—that bullets could still render him momentarily useless.

Stiles had been the hardest to grab, constantly dodging out of Peter’s way. But he was Derek’s weak spot, and everyone in the room knew it. No matter how many times Peter hit Derek or sent him soaring across the room, the second Peter touched Stiles Derek was back on him in a flash.

The fight seemed endless.

Peter managed to duck under Stiles’ defenses, grabbing him by the throat to pin him against the pillar. He tightened his grip on Stiles’ throat as he struggled against him.

Stiles clawed at Peter’s hand, trying to get him to let go.

Derek managed to punch Peter, forcing his uncle to release Stiles and fall back.

Stiles briefly nursed his throat before pushing himself to get up. He waited until Derek was out of the way, emptying his clip at Peter. He discarded his gun when he realized he had no ammo left, quickly drawing his combat knife, running into the fray as Peter kicked Derek to the side. He managed to stab Peter in the leg, hoping it would slow him down.

Instead, Peter grew angrier. He threw Stiles backwards, forcing him to collide with one of the bookshelves. He yanked the blade from his leg, more annoyed than hurt when he threw the knife at Stiles.

Derek had managed to tackle Peter to the side, forcing the knife off target by a few inches. He scuffled with Peter, trying to overpower his uncle. He wasn’t fully surprised when Peter gained the upper hand, his strength and speed surpassing that a normal human like Derek.

Stiles stirred from his spot on the floor, struggling to regain consciousness. His head hurt, knowing he had at least a small concussion from where the back of his head slammed into one of the shelves. His lungs burned, a product of the breath being knocked out of him on impact. He forced himself up, his arms and legs shaky as he focused on moving into a kneeling position. When he looked up, he saw Derek on the floor by the window, the exact place they had seen Peter when they walked in.

Peter swiftly bent to snatch Derek up, gripping him by the throat to lift him into the air. He paused, just taking in what would likely be the last time he’d lay eyes on Derek. He slowly pulled his other hand back.

“No!” Stiles yelled in desperation when he realized what Peter was about to do.

There were too many bodies scattered across the mansion they just fought their way through to not know what Peter had done. They had holes in their chests where their hearts should have been. Stiles knew Peter was about to rip Derek’s heart out of his chest.

Stiles’ nails dug into the ground as he scrambled to get to his feet, his injuries long forgotten. His heart was pounding in his ears as he ran at Peter, praying that he was moving fast enough to stop him.

“Let’s finish this,” Peter announced, not caring for Stiles’ outburst. Nothing was going to stop him from finally killing Derek.

It happened before Derek could process it. Peter’s hand was dropping him to the ground. He stumbled backwards as he saw Peter carelessly moving towards the window. It was when the window made a shattering noise that Derek saw that Stiles was the one with his arms around Peter’s torso, tackling him out the window.

And in a second, it was all over.

“Stiles!”

White noise burned in Derek’s ears as he ran towards the shattered window. He collapsed against the lip of the window as he looked over the drop, desperate for a sign of life among the rocky water below.

There was nothing.

Stiles was gone.

~*~

**A year later …**

Derek had grieved. He fell into a spiral of depression that ended only when Cora pulled him out of it. He threw himself into work, becoming obsessed with ending potential biological warfare before it even began. He wasn’t prepared for the file Lydia dropped on his desk that month.

“I’m busy,” Derek answered, not even glancing at the file.

“Open it,” Lydia prompted, crossing her arms over her chest, waiting for Derek to heed her instructions.

Derek begrudgingly opened the file, aware of Lydia watching his every move. It was a grainy photo, one that was taking off of a laboratory security camera. He spun the photo towards himself, looking at it in depth. He looked up at Lydia, wanting an explanation.

“That was taken from a security camera dated two months ago,” Lydia explained. “Danny was able to get it off of one of the fried hard drives from Allison’s last mission.”

“That’s impossible,” Derek answered, looking back down at the photo.

“Do you remember Stiles ever being in a cryo-tube?” Lydia demanded, partially annoyed that Derek wouldn’t let himself have this.

“Stiles is dead,” Derek snapped, looking up at Lydia. “You were the one that told me to let it go.”

“And I was wrong,” Lydia answered, her features softened. “I brought this to you because you deserve to know.”

Derek looked back down at the photo, his fingers moving to trace along the outline of Stiles’ form. It was a distorted image, but he could tell it was him. Stiles looked peaceful, his eyes closed, the rest of his body naked, submerged in a liquid of some kind.

“Where is he?”

~*~

Braeden was a force of nature. She was strong and capable, handling herself and the situation both she and Derek found themselves thrown into. She saved his life more than once since they met at his checkpoint near the village. Since everything went to shit.

The deeper they fought through the wades of infected, the more twists and turns the mission appeared to take. There wasn’t a sign of Stiles or Peter, nothing to suggest that Derek was going to find anything. Until they ran into Jennifer.

Jennifer was the one that laughed in Derek’s face when he demanded to know where Stiles was. She refused to give him any information, slipping through their grasp more than once.

That was until they finally came face to face with the mysteriously masked figure who, time and again, managed to help Jennifer avoid capture.

The masked figure’s cloak and hood drowned his body from sight. He wore a bird like mask that covered his face, hiding his eyes behind the red tinted glass.

Derek was surprised that he managed to shoot the mask off of the figure. He was taken off guard with how calm the hooded figure appeared to be, merely reaching a gloved hand up to touch his own face.

The hooded figure gently touched his face, tracing his gloved fingertips over his cheeks, slowly tracing along the curve of his lips as if he was remembering something.

“Stop fucking around!” Derek snapped, aiming his gun at Jennifer. “I want answers!”

“You haven’t changed,” an ominous voice answered, echoing throughout the temple. Peter took Derek’s momentarily stunned silence as an opportunity to reveal himself. He walked around the column, not surprised that Derek didn’t fully react. His nephew had some redeemable traits, and one of those happened to be a lack of being taken off guard.

“You are alive,” Derek growled, knowing that despite his desire to kill Peter then and there, it was a new lead—he had another loose string to pull in trying to find Stiles.

“We saw each other, when was it?” Peter feigned loss of memory as he descended the stairs, moving to take his place by the hooded figure. “Ah, yes. When I caught that trip down with Stiles.”

Derek aimed his gun at Peter. “Where is he, Peter?” He demanded, taking a step forward without allowing his aim to slip.

“So slow to catch on, Derek,” Peter sighed, disappointment lacing his words. “I was sure you’d be so much happier to see us.” He smiled at Derek’s puzzled look. “He was always your smarter half.” He pulled the hood back off of the attacker, exposing the assailant’s face for the first time.

Pale blonde hair tumbled from beneath the hood, random locks in chaotic disarray from their neglected length being unattended. The man was a shade of sickly white, as if he had been denied sunlight over the past year. His eyes were foggy, appearing as glassy slates devoid of human emotion, brown irises clouded over as he glared at both Derek and Braeden. His moles were still as prominent as ever, clear beacons attesting to who he once was despite his altered appearance.

“Stiles,” Derek weakly uttered, his gun slowly lowering the longer he looked at him.

Derek felt as if he was living the impossible. He had exhausted his resources—the organization’s resources—until they forced him to accept the worst. He didn’t listen to them when they informed him that Stiles’ status was updated from ACTIVE to KIA.

 _Killed in Action_. Stiles’ body hadn’t been found, but everyone expected Derek to just accept it. That a fall from such a high window would be the death of any human, regardless of the fact Stiles had been holding a vice grip on Peter. Even if Stiles managed to use Peter as a shield, if they both managed to miss the rocks, it would have been a miracle for Stiles to survive.

And yet, here Stiles was, standing in front of Derek as if he hadn’t spent the better part of a year presumed dead. As if Derek hadn’t spent a year mourning him.

“Stiles, it’s me, Derek,” Derek felt stupid for saying it, because how could he forget him? How could the man Derek fell in love with all those years ago really be the empty shell of a human standing before him?

“What?” Braeden allowed her grip to loosen on her gun, uncertain of how they were to proceed. She noticed the way Stiles didn’t react, as if Derek was just another stranger to him. “Are you … are you sure that’s him?”

“The one, and only,” Peter answered with a smile. His fingertips brushed a stray strand of hair behind Stiles’ ear, looking up at Derek to relish the way his nephew’s features twisted with fury at the gesture.

Stiles didn’t look back at Peter, knowing what he wanted. Somehow, he had gotten good at knowing what Peter wanted—knowing what he was supposed to do before Peter even ordered him. He quickly ripped the cloak from his shoulders, using it as a distraction when he tossed it in the air between him and Derek.

Derek instinctively grabbed the cloak when it reached him, throwing it to the ground when he realized what Stiles had done. He realized he must have miscalculated the distance, or Stiles’ speed, when he barely dodged Stiles’ knee coming into contact with his solar plexus.

Derek rolled to the side, falling to the ground in a chance to avoid Stiles. He looked up at him, seeing how void Stiles’ gaze was. “Don’t shoot him!” He yelled at Braeden when he saw her aim her gun.

Stiles turned towards Braeden, easily kicking the gun out of her hands. He easily dodged behind Braeden’s defenses, slamming his shoulder into her chest to send her stumbling backwards.

Derek moved to stand, ready to grab Stiles in an attempt to restrain him. He was taken off guard when Peter swept his legs out from under him. He rolled to the side, avoiding the sole of Peter’s boot.

“Let’s finish this,” Peter stated, an echoing reminder of last year—the night Derek had thought he lost Stiles forever.

Braeden helped Derek up off the floor, moving to stand beside him in solidarity. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. More importantly, she knew he wasn’t going to be able to fight without his mind preoccupied with concerns about Stiles.

~*~

Stiles had disappeared in the labyrinth of the temple’s hallways. He had fought feverishly whenever crossing paths with Braeden or Derek, but he had avoided them for the most part. Something had changed in his movements—from when he was nothing more than a hooded assailant. He seemed to want to avoid confrontation, running from Derek whenever he ran into him.

All that changed when Derek and Braeden had Peter cornered. Stiles was there in a flash, like an attack dog being summoned.

Stiles slammed his open palm into Braedan’s forearm, forcing her to cast aside her firearm. He grasped ahold of her holsters, using inhuman strength to throw her to the side, colliding with the far wall. He turned to Derek, catching the way Derek hesitated—the way Derek removed his finger from the trigger. He grabbed ahold of Derek’s wrist, moving to disorient him with a swift kick to head. He cartwheeled to the side, used his own body weight to flip Derek into the air before slamming him into the ground. He used his knee to pin Derek to the ground, twisting Derek’s arm into a position of strain against his thigh.

Derek grabbed ahold of Stiles’ arm, an attempt to keep him from breaking his. His other hand grasped Stiles’ thigh, trying to lighten the pressure of his knee lodging into his neck. “Stiles, wake up!” His eyes fell on Peter, noticing the smirk on his uncle’s lips.

“I’ll give you two some time to _catch up_ ,” Peter commented, turning to leave Derek behind with Stiles.

“Stiles, I know you’re still in there,” Derek pleaded with Stiles. He released a wounded yell when Stiles twisted his arm more, feeling his shoulder preparing to pop out of its socket with one more twist from Stiles.

"Genim Stilinski. Don't you remember that?” Derek desperately grasped for anything that would spark Stiles’ memory—anything Peter couldn’t hurt or erase no matter how much he prodded into Stiles’ brain. “Your mother—Claudia—she named you that. You learned to play the piano again for our wedding because she couldn't be there. Stilinski-Hale. That was the name you wanted to share."

The glint of the rings caught Stiles’ gaze. He could hear the two of them jingling softly whenever Derek dodged his attacks. This was the first time he saw the rings in over a year—and Derek still had them. He remembered picking them out with Derek, spending a whole weekend going through shops before they finally found a pair they liked best.

“Der … Derek,” Stiles grunted through his hitching breath, his body fighting against the serum pumping into his chest. He released his hold on Derek, staggering to the side. He clutched at his chest, desperately clawing at the device pumping venom into him. He heard Peter give a slightly surprised sigh before forcing himself to try and get to Peter. He needed to stop him—he wouldn’t hurt Derek, not anymore.

“Still resisting,” Peter stated in displeasure. “And at such an advance stage, too, Stiles. I’m surprised—I thought we had made such _progress_.” He upped the output of serum in the device, ramping it up to its maximum setting.

Stiles gasped in pain, his nails digging into the material of his body suit, trying to rip it apart to get at the device. He collapsed, crumpling into the ground as his body fought to stay in control, the serum telling him to attack—to kill.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Derek demanded when he heard Stiles gasp and whimper in pain, seeing him writhe on the ground as Peter tapped on the device in his hand.

“I don’t have time for you or our games, Derek,” Peter answered in annoyance. “I have more important matters to attend to. Enjoy watching Stiles suffer in the mean time.”

“Peter!” Derek yelled, scrambling to his feet and chasing after him, knowing that he needed that remote device to stop whatever was happening to Stiles. The elevator doors tightly sealed shut behind Peter, leaving Derek to bang his fists against them to no avail. “Damn it!” He cursed.

Stiles screamed in pain, the device pumping more venom into his chest, directly into his heart. His veins were on fire, his body being controlled against his will. He ripped open the front of his body suit, the zipper giving way under the force. He needed to get the device out, knowing it was slowly killing him.

“What’s that on his chest?” Braeden asked, pausing as she came up behind Derek.

“It’s controlling him,” Derek uttered, seeing the way Stiles kept trying to pry the thing off. “We have to get it off him.”

An electrical spark ignited from the device, causing Stiles’ to jerk violently in an attempt to get away from it. He turned his gaze towards Braeden and Derek, nearly hissing when Braeden took a step towards him. The device was erasing what little humanity Derek’s words had gotten back from Stiles—Stiles could only feel Peter’s command drumming through his veins, telling him to kill anything that moved.

Derek dodged out of the way when Stiles tried to attack him, barely making it out of range when Braeden grabbed Stiles from behind.

Braeden held Stiles’ arms behind his back, restraining him as best she could. “Hurry,” she demanded, tightening her hold on Stiles as he struggled against her.

Derek holstered his gun, moving to grab ahold of the device.

Stiles’ skin was clammy against Derek’s touch, as if his body was rapidly cooling in reaction to the device pumping out more serum. He struggled against Derek, desperate to do something about the device himself. He gasped in pain when he felt Derek’s fingers latch onto the device, and begin to yank on it.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m so sorry,” Derek faintly whispered as he continued to pull on the device. Having to face Stiles, knowing that he was causing him pain, hurt. His fingertips dug deep into the bottom of the device, its sharp edges giving way to his efforts. He ignored the tearing of his skin, knowing that he had to get the device off of Stiles if they were going to help him.

Stiles screamed when the device shifted some, giving way.

Derek felt the tubes and wires that were buried in Stiles’ chest release some, prompting him to let go when Stiles wiggled loose from Braeden. He let Stiles stumble away from them, not knowing if he could pull the device anymore.

“It’s almost off,” Braeden stated, having seen the device shift some.

“We can’t,” Derek softly stated, staring at Stiles in near awe.

“That thing is—”

“We could kill him,” Derek snapped back.

“If we don’t get that thing off, we’ll have to kill him,” Braeden answered, not liking that outcome anymore than Derek.

Stiles staggered, dropping to his knees as he clutched at the device. He tried to make himself grab at it, tried to pull it out the rest of the way. But something told him to push it back in, to feed the tubes back into the holes in his chest. Tears burned his eyes as pain bloomed throughout his body.

Braeden grabbed Stiles by the arm, ripping his hand away from the device. She pushed Stiles back, watching him tumbling to the ground. She looked at Derek, waiting for him to say anything. She shook her head, knowing that he wasn’t going to push himself to pull the device the rest of the way off. She moved to stand over Stiles, feeling guilty when she saw the tears running down Stiles’ face, how heavy his breathing was as he gasped for at least one easy breath. She knelt over Stiles, grabbing the device and pulling it.

Stiles grunted in pain, his whole torso lifting off the ground as Braeden pulled the device. Every time the device pulled a small fraction out of his chest, he released a pained gasp. He collapsed against the ground, Braeden’s hands leaving the device. He partially whimpered, trying to move his head to look at the device, seeing Derek lightly shove Braeden back.

Derek moved to kneel over Stiles, unable to put Stiles through any more of it. He saw the wires that left nearly invisible holes in Stiles’ chest; the tubes still lodged beneath his skin, foreign liquid still trying to pump from the device. He unsheathed his combat knife, grabbing hold of the device with one hand. He swiftly jerked his hand forward, running the knife’s blade beneath the device to cut through the tubes.

The red light on the device flickered, slowly fading as it released another electrical spark when it realized it had lost connection to its host. It landed with a loud, clattering clunk when Derek tossed it away from Stiles, discarding it from sight. Serum still tried to pump out of it, oozing onto the floor before the device finally died.

Derek knelt to the side, pulling Stiles up into his arms. He cradled Stiles close, afraid that removing the device would have caused Stiles’ heart too much trauma. He allowed Stiles’ head to rest against the inside crook of his arm, desperate for Stiles to move—to give him a sign that he’d be okay. “Stiles,” he softly spoke, running his hand along Stiles’ face, tucking a few stray strands of hair away from his face.

Stiles’ eyes fluttered open. His mouth was dry, his tongue almost numb to the idea of speaking. He reached a hand up, clutching at Derek’s shoulder. “Derek …”

Derek smiled down at Stiles, overjoyed to have him back in his arms. “Hey,” he softly uttered, unsure how to respond—what to say after thinking Stiles was dead for so long.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered, tears burning his eyes as he remembered everything he did—everything Peter wanted him to do.

“No,” Derek shook his head, shifting his weight to hold Stiles closer. “You don’t have to be sorry for a damn thing.” He cupped Stiles’ cheek, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’m the sorry one.”

“I couldn’t control my actions,” Stiles weakly argued. “Oh, God,” he softly cursed, remembering it all—every horror he inflicted. “I was still aware. I was screaming at myself to just— but I couldn’t. Derek, I couldn’t.” He closed his eyes, holding onto Derek even tighter.

Derek looked up at Braeden, seeing the pity she had for Stiles. He settled on the ground with Stiles precariously folded into his lap, cradled against his chest.

It was Stiles who reluctantly started to stir, forcing Derek to help him stand. He lingered under Derek’s arm, finally forcing himself to stand on his own. He looked at Derek, seeing how reluctant he was to let him out of reach.

“You still have a chance to stop Peter,” Stiles said, forcing himself to stand tall, despite the pain. “If you two hurry, you can catch him.”

Realization dawned over Derek’s features. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to leave you here,” he nearly growled, pissed at the fact that Stiles just suggested they split up.

“If you don’t stop Peter, millions of people will die, Derek,” Stiles argued back. “I’m all right. _You_ need to stop him.” He watched as Derek’s features soured.

“I know that,” Derek finally confessed. “But I just got you back—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles stubbornly stated. “But I will not be fine if you sit here, being a mother hen over me, instead of stopping Peter.”

“Stiles,” Derek started.

Stiles moved quickly, grabbing Derek by his holsters, forcing him to lock gazes with him. “You’re the only person who can stop him, Derek.” He sounded worried, as if he knew Derek would choose him over countless others. “Don’t you trust me?” He weakly asked, a frown pulling at his features when Derek looked away, his features wounded.

“Okay,” Derek reluctantly agreed, his hands moving to cover Stiles’. He moved Stiles’ hands, slowly releasing them as he backed up from him, holding his gaze. He made his way over to the elevator, hating himself for leaving.

“Take care of him,” Stiles said to Braeden, looking at her.

Braeden offered a faint nod, making her way over to the elevator with Derek.

Derek looked at Stiles, his gaze unmoving as the doors slammed shut between them.

Stiles released a heavy breath. “You’re our only chance to survive this,” he faintly spoke to himself, turning to survey the room. He knew the way out, memorizing it before Derek and Braeden even showed up. He staggered, his vision suddenly blurring. His body was reacting to the serum being gone, suddenly closed off and alone. He tried to reach for the balcony, his hands missing the rungs. He collapsed onto the ground, a hand moving to clutch at his chest.

“Derek …” He softly whispered, his voice echoing off the empty chamber’s walls before unconsciousness claimed him.

~*~

Derek wasn’t sure what to feel. He knew Peter was dead, certain that there was no way he could wiggle his way out of that. The sound of the helicopter’s blades loudly chopping through the air rang out the sound of Braeden’s question, but Derek was positive she was asking if he was okay.

And to be honest, Derek didn’t know.

Derek turned to look at the hand touching his forearm, the skin pale and gloveless now as the hand moved to slip into Derek’s. He looked up, a warm sense of relief and happiness pulled at his heart when he saw Stiles faintly smiling at him.

Stiles’ lips moved to deliver a message that Derek thought he’d never hear again. _I love you._ Even with the noise drowning Stiles’ voice out, Derek still heard him—he felt the words in his core.

Derek shifted his body some, lifting up his arm in offering to Stiles.

Stiles accepted, moving to lay down, his body exhausted with the desire to collapse once more under the strain of holding everything together. He rested his head in Derek’s lap, his hand gently touching the top of Derek’s thigh as he steadied himself. He already felt himself starting to drift the moment Derek rested his hand on his ribs, lulled to sleep by the comforting presence of Derek protecting him.

Just like everything in their lives, the peace was short lived.

Stiles jolted awake, his body weak and aching as he struggled against being strapped down in a bed. His vision of blurred, his struggles useless as his restraints prevailed. He tried speaking, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.

“Stiles,” Derek softly called, his hand touching Stiles’ forehead in hopes to calm him.

“Derek, what— why?” Stiles weakly questioned, releasing a faint whimper as another shudder pulsed through his body.

“You started thrashing on the helicopter— I didn’t know what to do, and when we reached base, they thought you were having seizures,” Derek explained, trying to remain calm despite his fear for Stiles’ safety. “They said that your body is going into withdrawal.”

“Withdrawal,” Stiles echoed, closing his eyes as he fought against his desire to scream. “The device.”

“We have it in the lab—Lydia has the best people working on it,” Derek explained. “We’ll fix this, Stiles, I promise.” He held Stiles’ hand tightly, not caring if Stiles dug his fingernails into his skin whenever a tremor became too much.

“Don’t leave me,” Stiles nearly begged, tears stinging his eyes as he held onto Derek’s hand tightly, as if it was his last lifeline.

“Never,” Derek answered, brushing Stiles’ hair away from his forehead.

~*~

They had to place Stiles in a medically induced coma when the shaking got worse, his body trying to fight off the need for more of the serum.

Derek was removed from the room for shoving the doctor. He was standing outside Stiles’ room, watching the monitors beep as the only indicators that Stiles was still alive. He didn’t look away when he heard heels clacking against the floor, the owner of the shoes clearly heading for him. “I’m not in the mood,” he growled at the person when they stopped behind him.

“Considering I haven’t had you removed from the hospital wing, you should be a little nicer,” Lydia stated, her eyes drifting from Derek to look at Stiles.

“Should I bother retorting?” Derek barely asked.

“I didn’t come here to chastise you for shoving Deaton,” Lydia answered. “I figured if anyone was going to keep you informed, I might as well be the one to do it.”

“Informed on what?” Derek asked, his eyes stuck on Stiles.

Lydia moved to stand beside Derek, merely offering the folder in her hand. “Informed on what happened to Stiles.”

Derek finally forced himself to look at Lydia, taking the folder from her hand.

“I could tell you, or you could read the file,” Lydia explained.

Derek looked down at the file, his hands shaking a bit as he tried to process what could possibly be in the file. What could possibly be in the file that made Lydia think she had to come down here and give it to him herself.

Lydia reached a hand out, gently touching Derek’s hand to gain his attention. “It’s not going to be easy,” she stated, lightly frowning as her eyes wandered over to Stiles. “But you’re both fighters and have each other, and all of us, to get through it.”

“What did he do to him?” Derek asked, knowing Lydia had a reason for saying such things out loud.

Lydia allowed her features to turn serious, her eyes falling to the file. “Where do you want to start?”

Derek felt like he was hit by a train. He left Lydia behind, excusing himself from the hospital wing for the first time in over a week. He paced outside, trying to keep himself calm.

Stiles’ injuries were so much more severe than anyone thought. There was scar tissue covering his back, surgical holes along his spine suggesting that his back was set to heal together after a major break that should have left Stiles paralyzed. The medical team suspected the fall from the window left Stiles with a broken back. His chest was already healing at an excelled rate, but there would be more scars. His veins were healing nicer than expected, considering that Derek and Braeden ripped the device out. A few of his ribs were cracked from all the fighting, but would heal nicely without having to be overly cautious. His blood was being analyzed, hopes of finding why Stiles was healing so fast being found in his mutated cells.

Stiles had a rare form of the T-Virus stored in his system. Somehow, Stiles’ blood bonded with the deadly virus and antigens he received from the cure, making him the second catalogued person to survive infection—Allison allowed them to test her blood in comparison to Stiles’, finding that the mutations matched. The conclusion was jarring—Stiles’ healing factor was escalated because of Peter’s experimentation.

“I have to tell you something that isn’t in there yet,” Lydia’s voice was distant, ringing in Derek’s ears as he tried to walk his anger out. “It’s not always customary, but where Stiles had been missing for so long, and under Peter’s control … Well, it might not come up with anything, but all the same, they … they performed a rape kit.”

Derek punched the wall until his hand felt numb. He remembered seeing the way Peter softly touched Stiles’ face, conjuring up thoughts of even before the incident in the Preserve, how Peter would often just stare after Stiles.

Allison was the one that came to sit with Derek, knowing he was hiding outside. She wordlessly sat beside Derek, offering him the bottle of whiskey she had been drinking from earlier. She carefully eyed his bloodied hand when he silently took the bottle from her. “Hurting yourself won’t change what happened.”

“My uncle kidnapped and brainwashed Stiles, using him as the star guinea pig in his science projects,” Derek answered, taking a big swig of the whiskey. “And then, he made sure Stiles’ body would be addicted to the serum he was controlling him with so he’d suffer withdrawal symptoms. But that’s all on top of the fact that he probably repetitively raped him over the past year.”

Allison slowly drew her legs up against her chest, resting her chin against her knees as she thought about her family. Memories of how she dealt with the knowledge that she was seen as little more than an incubator for their precious G-Virus—that she was the investment of their legacy in the chain of evolution, as Gerard had put it. Even she couldn’t imagine what Stiles went through. “We don’t know what happened. We can only hope he’ll talk to us about it.”

Derek leaned back against the wall, his eyes burning a hole into the wall across from them. He wanted Peter to be alive, just to have the satisfaction of slowly killing him once more.

“I did this to Stiles,” Derek finally confessed.

Allison remained silent, turning to look at Derek, not at all surprised that he wasn’t looking at her.

“Stiles didn’t want me to go—but I didn’t listen,” Derek bitterly continued. “He told me to let someone else go. He told me we could have been happy without it, and I fucking pushed it. I made him go—”

“No, you didn’t,” Allison firmly stated. “Stiles went with you because he loves you. He tackled Peter out that window because he saw you in trouble and reacted. Stiles loves you so much, Derek, you can’t possibly think that he’d blame you for something that isn’t your fault.”

“I should have been the one to go out the window with Peter,” Derek countered.

“Then you’d have been the one Stiles rescued from Peter’s control,” Allison answered.

“I wouldn’t have survived,” Derek stated. “Stiles is stronger than me—he’s always been stronger than me.”

“He’s going to need you to be strong for both of you for a while,” Allison reasoned. “It won’t fully go away, but it will be easier. Eventually, things will feel better—maybe not like they used to be, but better.”

~*~

Derek was present when they finally deemed it safe to take Stiles out of the coma. He watched from the corner as he waited to see Stiles wake up. He wasn’t prepared for Stiles’ abrupt flail awake, as if he hadn’t been under heavy anesthesia, or just waking up from a medically induced coma.

Stiles was quiet while Lydia talked, informing him of everything that happened in his absence, how they were about to proceed now that he was back.

“You’re of course welcomed to come back,” Lydia stated, her eyes briefly flickering over to Derek, prepared for a protest from him.

“I think I’d rather just take my retirement like I had planned,” Stiles softly stated, his fingers still picking at the hospital bracelet on his wrist.

Lydia nodded. “Of course.” She quickly typed into her phone before adding, “There is also room in the dorms for you to stay as well, if you prefer.”

Derek tensed, not realizing that Lydia was going to be offering lodgings to Stiles that weren’t their apartment.

Stiles turned to look at Derek, evaluating how he felt about it before looking back at Lydia. “I think I’d like to just go home. That is,” he looked back at Derek. “If we still have a home for us both.”

Stiles hadn’t thought about Derek moving on. It wasn’t rocket science that Derek was an extremely attractive person—perhaps a little bit too much of a workaholic, but his other qualities made up for that. He had assumed Derek still wanted to be a couple.

Derek looked at Stiles. “Your pillow’s a little dusty, but still waiting for you.” He tried to sound light hearted, as if his own heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, desperate to have Stiles back in the house.

Stiles faintly smiled. “I miss my pillow.” The unspoken, _I miss you_ , was clear enough for them both.

“I have to ask you some tough questions, Stiles,” Lydia started, knowing that she was going to get yelled at by Derek at some point. “Do you want Derek here for that, or not?”

Stiles’ eyes fell to his bed once more. “There are some things I don’t want to talk about.”

“That’s fine,” Lydia immediately stated, wanting him to feel comfortable. “I’m just going to start with some clinical questions, but I need to know if you consent to Derek being here for this.”

Stiles forced himself to look up at Derek, knowing he looked sad and broken. He saw how rigid Derek looked, how on edge he was from all of it. Stiles drew in a breath before finally uttering, “If he wants to be.”

“If you want me here, I want to be here,” Derek replied, his arms still locked tight against his chest.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded. “But some things … I don’t want to talk about now, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to.”

“I’m never going to push you,” Derek stated before Lydia could.

“I know,” Stiles stated, tears burning his eyes, a tightness forming in the back of his throat.

Lydia started her questions off easy, asking if Stiles remembered where Peter took him, if he had any clue how long the device had been attached to him.

Derek hadn’t moved from his spot until Stiles grew so tense his knuckles were turning white from fisting the blankets. He moved to sit on the other side of Stiles’ hospital bed, moving to hold his hand.

Stiles’ grip on the blanket loosened some, instead holding onto Derek’s hand.

“And about your hair—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Stiles abruptly snapped. “I want it changed back, and I don’t want to talk about it,” he sharply added.

“Okay,” Lydia answered. She typed a few words into her phone, but Derek didn’t miss the look she gave him over the device.

It was another red flag that something had happened—something Stiles wasn’t likely to ever talk about with either of them.

Derek was pulled from his thoughts by Stiles’ fingertips brushing over his cut knuckles. He looked at Stiles, seeing the frown pulling on his lips as he stared down at Derek’s knuckles.

~*~

Stiles was silent as he paced through the bathroom. He must have checked the hair dye box five times now, wanting to know just how long it would take. He hated how the dye looked darker than his original color, not knowing if it was going to come out okay or not.

Lydia helped Stiles wash the dye out, gently rubbing the towel over his head. She caught sight of Derek lingering in the bedroom before leaving them to continue. She knew he was slightly upset when Stiles hadn’t asked him for help, feeling as if the void between them was growing.

Stiles stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes stuck on the way his hair started to look crazy from Lydia blow drying it. His stomach started to churn as he looked at the color. “It’s not right.”

Lydia frowned, looking into the mirror to see Stiles’ face as she shut off the blow dryer. “Stiles, it looks that same as before.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Stiles snapped. “It’s too dark.”

Lydia quietly picked up the box and read the instructions on the back. “It’s because your hair was blond—”

“Stop saying that,” Stiles abruptly left the bathroom, walking away from her.

Derek found Stiles, hours later, sitting on the couch with a pair of scissors in his hands. He tried to keep an eye on Stiles as he worked on dinner. He saw how still Stiles was, completely transfixed on the scissors. He wasn’t surprised to find Stiles in the bathroom when dinner was finally ready.

Stiles was staring at his hair in the mirror when Derek came in.

“If you want to cut it, you can,” Derek stated, knowing that he had to fill the silence. He got used to talking more, still not used to the idea of Stiles not talking as much as he normally did.

“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles weakly admitted. “I just want it to be the right shade again, but …”

“If you shave it, then when it grows back in, it should be the right shade,” Derek offered.

“Yeah,” Stiles faintly said. He didn’t move when Derek came further into the bathroom. He watched as Derek retrieved the electric razor from one of the cabinets. He silently moved to face Derek, lifting himself up onto the counter with little effort.

A mutual silence hung in the air Derek began shaving Stiles head, both of them forgetting about dinner at the moment.

Derek tried to keep himself from pressing into Stiles, their physical intimacy level being maxed out at prolonged hugs and sharing a bed. He didn’t mind, content in just sharing the same air as Stiles. He tried to forget how Stiles had fought, tooth and nail, to get him away from him when Derek had accidentally wrapped his arm around Stiles in the midst of sleep—Derek’s nose still hurt a little from Stiles slamming his head back into Derek’s face.

Stiles listened to the echoing buzz of the razor, seeing the small tuffs of dark brown hair falling onto the counter. He looked at how Derek kept his body away from his, knowing it was a conscious decision. He hesitated in reaching his hands out, knowing that it would be a move neither of them would comment on. He reached out, his fingertips brushing against Derek’s hips as he slowly pulled him forward to stand between his legs. He needed Derek close, he needed to know it wasn’t Peter shaving his head down to stick needles and monitor readers to his skin. He needed to know that this was real, and that no one was going to take him away from Derek this time.

Derek silently accepted the gesture, a sense of relief welling in his chest when he realized that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him. He finally clicked the razor off, running his hand over Stiles head to brush away the loose strands that remained. “There,” he softly stated, softly smiling at Stiles when he looked at him. “It’s the right shade now.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small but fond smile that pulled at his lips. He trusted Derek’s judgment, moving to hug Derek, pressing his face into Derek’s chest as he wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you.”

Derek closed his eyes as he held Stiles, trying to calm himself as he wondered if this meant Stiles was comfortable with touching, or if Stiles thought he had to hug Derek in thanks. “You don’t have to thank me,” he faintly answered. “I’d do anything for you.”

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek, both of them content to stay holding onto each other like that.

That night, Stiles turned towards Derek, his eyes scanning his features. He could see him, even in the darkness of their room. He shuffled his body a little to get closer to him, gently lifting Derek’s arm to get underneath it.

Subconsciously, Derek’s body reacted to the gesture, his arm moving to rest by Stiles’ pillow, allowing Stiles the room to lay against his chest.

Stiles tucked himself against Derek, resting his head against Derek’s shoulder, his hand moving to rest over Derek’s heart. He felt safe when Derek’s arm settled around his waist, holding him close.

Derek stirred a bit, awakened by the movement. “Is this … okay?” He sleepily asked, wanting to know that Stiles wanted to be so close.

“Yes,” Stiles answered, his feet brushing against Derek’s as his leg moved to tangle with his.

They were both silent before Stiles finally addressed the obvious question that hung in the air. “Peter prefers blonds.”

Derek’s hand tightened against Stiles’ waist.

“He never … not that I know of,” Stiles continued. “I just don’t like thinking about it. How he wanted me to be something he thought was _perfection_.” He remembered Peter uttering that word when first waking him up from the coma. He remembered screaming on the inside when he saw his hair in a reflection.

Derek held Stiles as close as possible, wishing he could change it all.

“And you hate blonds,” Stiles added.

“I don’t hate you,” Derek immediately corrected him. “You could be bald and I wouldn’t care.”

Stiles faintly snorted. “You’d care a little bit,” he countered.

“I’d only care if you cared,” Derek explained.

Stiles hugged Derek tighter, allowing the silence to comfortably fall around them, unlike before.

~*~

Derek woke up well before his alarm, shuffling his body a bit to discover that in the middle of the night, their positions had changed a little. He was pressed against Stiles, their legs tangled a bit. His hips were turned into Stiles, their bodies flushed against each other like they used to be.

Stiles was resting on his side, his back towards Derek. He was curled around Derek’s arm, his face pressed into Derek’s bicep.

Derek didn’t care that his arm was asleep, the feeling of pins sparking through his nerves when he tried to wiggle his fingers. His slight movement caused Stiles to shuffle a bit, his hips rocking back into Derek.

Derek slightly cursed under his breath, realizing that in the middle of the night, their bodies were more than likely rocking against each other—the close intimacy they had been missing for a while resulting in his slightly hardening cock pressed into Stiles’ ass. He needed to pull away before Stiles woke up, afraid that it would set them back even further—that Stiles would think he had to feel obligated to reciprocating sexual attraction.

In the last month, Stiles hadn’t shown any indication that he had any sexual desire. Most days were spent with Stiles wrapped up in Derek’s old sweaters, sitting on the couch watching television, or browsing Derek’s laptop to catch up on what he missed. He kissed Derek for the first time last week, telling him to be safe while heading to the office—Derek had smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead, glad that they could grab some sort of normalcy in their interactions.

And now, Derek’s dick was going to ruin all of it.

Derek felt Stiles starting to stir, the way his body brushed against him made him want to groan. He finally forced himself to get up, slipping his arm out of Stiles’ grasp, knowing it would wake him up.

Stiles mumbled in disapproval, turning to rest his head on his pillow in order to look at Derek. He frowned when he realized Derek was already heading for the bathroom.

Derek ran the cold water, not even flinching when he stepped in the shower. He refused to even look down, partially ashamed at himself for not even being able to have this conversation with Stiles. He spoke with the shrink at the office, knowing that he couldn’t tell anyone else about his and Stiles’ situation without divulging classified information. He wasn’t even sure if he should be meeting with her, knowing that Stiles had an appointment with her every week.

_Talk to him about it. There is nothing shameful in wanting to be intimate with your partner. The only shame to be had would be if you pushed him._

Derek tried to forget about the conversation, but he knew he had to stop being so cowardly and just face it. He had no problem fighting undead corpses, but the minute his emotions were brought into sight, he ran the other way—especially now that he was afraid Stiles would hate him for it.

Derek startled when he walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, to find that Stiles was glaring at him.

Stiles was sitting in the middle of the unmade bed, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as he pinned Derek with a glare. “I’m not afraid of your dick.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised in reaction to Stiles’ bluntness.

Stiles released a sigh, running a hand over his newly buzzed hair. “I’m sorry if you think you can’t be like that around me.”

“You don’t have to apologize about anything,” Derek answered. This was what he didn’t want, Stiles thinking he had to fix everything—that he was meant to feel guilty.

“Clearly I do,” Stiles replied. “I never told you that you didn’t have to pretend to not care about me.”

Derek’s lips twisted into a displeased scowl. “Stiles, plenty of people have healthy, loving relationships, without sex.”

“But I want to have sex!” Stiles snapped, looking at Derek. “I want you—us. That’s what I want again. I want to have sex, I just … ” He looked down at the bed sheets, his fingers playing with the fabric. “I don’t want you looking at me.”

Derek frowned, knowing exactly what Stiles meant. He noticed that Stiles made sure not to change his clothes in front of him. He noticed that Stiles was always drowning himself in clothes. He knew it was because Stiles didn’t want him to see him naked—but he thought it was for different reasons.

“I don’t want you looking at all the scars,” Stiles finally pushed. “I don’t want to see your face when you have to look at them.” His hand moved to press over his chest, covering where the device had been.

“Do you hate looking at my scars?” Derek finally asked, knowing he had more than he did the last time he saw Stiles.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “No. But I know you, and I know you blame yourself for these ones.” He allowed the silence to fall between them before pushing more. “It’s why we don’t talk about what’s in my medical file.”

Derek looked away from Stiles, knowing it was his tell, showing that he didn’t want to talk about his medical file.

“What Peter did—”

“Stiles—”

“What Peter did,” Stiles stated one more, firmer and louder, a silent order for Derek to stop talking. “It has nothing to do with you. Part of him knew he’d get to hurt you through hurting me, but he did what he did because he wanted the healing factor that is in my blood. He … he saw potential. That’s why he picked me up out of the rocks and took me with him before you were even able to think about getting down there.” He remembered the pain of his back being snapped in two, how he gasped and cried out when Peter picked him up, all his thoughts gone as the pain took over. He looked up at Derek. “This is what Peter wanted, us stepping around one another, you being afraid to be yourself around me.”

“What he did to you,” Derek started, his voice breaking off. “It’s my fault. I didn’t listen to you. If I had listened to you, we wouldn’t have been in that mansion—we never would have had to deal with him.”

“And two other agents would be dead, and the world would be ending right now because Peter would have succeeded in killing millions,” Stiles argued. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were the one person who could stop him, Derek.” He moved to the edge of the bed, climbing out of the sheets in order to get to Derek. He took the few steps necessary to get to Derek, standing in front of him as his hands settled on Derek’s hips. “I love you. And I just need to know that … that _that’s_ enough for us to get through this.”

Derek slowly moved to wrap his arms around Stiles, pulling him in close. He allowed Stiles to press his face into the crook of his neck, feeling his fingernails dig into his back. “I love you, and for right now, that’s enough. It’s more than enough for me.”

~*~

They spent the following weeks spending time together. With Stiles retired and Derek working minimal hours in the office, there was a lot of time to spend how they saw fit.

They started dating again.

They went for leisurely walks through the park near their house, holding hands as they talked about different things—what Stiles missed in Derek’s life. They went to museums and art galleries, going to some of the old places they used to enjoy visiting on their time off.

Stiles visited his father more, needing to get out of the house and clear his head. He went with his father to have the grave marker removed from the empty grave plot, not realizing that his father and Derek intended to have him buried by his mother.

Stiles still had nightmares every so often, thrashing on the bed until Derek held him close, whispering soft comforting words to him.

It was the anniversary of their intended wedding date when Derek offered Stiles his ring. He had kept both of them as a pair, hanging on a chain around his neck for the past year.

Stiles took the ring, slipping it onto his finger. He twisted the band, looking down at it, remembering how the sight of it had been part of the reason why he broke through the mind control.

“You don’t have to wear it,” Derek offered, not knowing if this was pushing. He still wanted to marry Stiles, but when they were both ready.

“I had to be put into a coma when the date came up,” Stiles answered, finally looking up at Derek. “I nearly broke my back again.”

Derek knew Stiles was talking about the day their wedding had been set for. He had gotten drunk and gone to the hotel where they had been planning on staying. He had punched the mirror in in the bathroom, not caring about having to pay for it. He thought about stepping out on the balcony—about stepping over the railing and falling like Stiles had.

Cora had been the one to show up that night and drag him back into the room. She made him get counseling, determined to help him as best she could.

“Do you still want to marry me?” Stiles asked, pulling Derek from his thoughts.

Derek looked at Stiles, evaluating him. “I always want to marry you.”

Stiles released a faint huff of laughter that ended with a soft sob. He reached out for Derek, his hand cupping his face as he kissed him. He pressed his body against Derek’s, wanting to be wrapped up in him.

Derek let Stiles push him back into the doorway’s frame, steadying them as he placed a hand on Stiles’ hip. His other arm moved to encircle around Stiles’ waist, holding Stiles against his body.

Their kisses were deep, passionate in their need for one another.

Stiles pressed a lingering kiss to Derek’s lips before uttering, “Take me to bed.”

Derek hesitated, his thumb brushing against Stiles’ hip.

They had plenty of make out sessions on the couch, ending with them grinding against each other like teenagers, desperate for anything. Last weekend they had showered together for the first time since Stiles came back.

Derek had been showering, getting ready to meet with Boyd and Erica at the office when he heard the shower door slide open with ease. It felt so right and natural when Stiles’ hands moved to touch his back, lips pressing a tender kiss to his shoulder blade.

It all lead to Derek blowing Stiles, his hands holding onto Stiles’ hips to steady him. Stiles’ hands were twisting in Derek’s hair, his leg hooked over Derek’s shoulder as his back pressed into the shower wall. Stiles gasped, moaning when Derek’s fingers slipped inside him. His leg started to shake as he weakly thrust his hips forward into Derek’s waiting mouth. He cried when he came, his breath heavy as he grasped at Derek’s shoulders to steady himself.

It had been the furthest Derek dared to go, thinking that he might have been crossing the line until Stiles begged him to keep going.

“Please,” Stiles faintly pleaded, gaining Derek’s attention once more. “I want— I want to have what we should have had that night.”

Derek kissed Stiles once more, reaching his hands down to cup at the back of Stiles’ legs. Wordlessly, he hoisted Stiles up, guiding his legs to wrap around his hips. He slowly walked through the house, heading to their room.

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, holding him close as he kissed him. He locked his legs around Derek’s waist, trusting him to get them to the bedroom. He wasn’t surprised when Derek gently deposited him on the bed, disappointed when Derek pulled away from him. He looked up at Derek, watching as he started stripping his clothes away.

Derek carefully pulled his shirt over his head, looking down at Stiles. He reached a hand out, guiding Stiles’ hand to touch him. He dropped his shirt to the ground, letting Stiles’ hands move over his body.

Stiles’ fingers traced Derek’s muscles, moving to follow along the curve of his hips. He ignored the scars, not wanting to bring attention to them—it wasn’t about the scars or their past, this was just about them. He looked up at Derek, holding his gaze as his fingers moved to the zipper of Derek’s pants.

Derek let Stiles push his pants down, easily shimmying his hips to get them off. He watched as Stiles slowly removed his own shirt. He didn’t stare at Stiles’ chest, not looking at the faint scars the device had left. He leaned down, kissing Stiles instead.

Stiles slid back on the bed, getting Derek to follow, chasing after his lips. He reached a hand up to touch Derek’s stomach, steadying Derek over his body. He looked down to watch Derek’s hands push his pants down. He kicked his legs a bit, pushing the pants off of the bed before opening his legs to Derek. He released a faint moan when Derek settled his hips between his thighs, their hardening cocks brushing against each other.

Their kisses were slow, matching their grinding as they decided to take their time. Stiles cradled Derek’s head in his hands, focused on controlling their kisses as Derek concentrated on moving their hips together. Stiles’ hands strayed as he moved to grab at Derek’s ass, forcing him to rock up into him harder.

Derek shuffled his weight, leaning against his arm as he started to pull away from kissing Stiles. “What do you want?” He faintly asked between kisses.

“You,” Stiles smiled into their kisses. “I just want you.”

~*~

Stiles settled in Derek’s lap, his hands pressed against Derek’s chest as he caught his breath. He felt full, almost forgetting what it was like to have Derek deep inside of him. He moved his hand against Derek’s chest, his fingers tracing around one of his nipples, smirking when Derek faintly grunted at him. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips before moving down to gently nip at his nipple. He moaned when Derek lifted his hips in slight retaliation.

Stiles sat up, slowly moving his hips in a circular motion. He closed his eyes, slowly lifting his body up and down.

Derek’s hands lifted to Stiles’ hips, steadying him as he slowly moved up and down. His thumbs brushed the inside curve of Stiles’ hips as he watched him.

Stiles reached his hands down to hold onto Derek’s arms, his thighs burning with familiarity. His head fell back as he quickened the pace, Derek’s hips moving up to meet him. He released a loud gasp when Derek hit the right spot, his whole back arching as his nails dug into the skin of Derek’s arms. “Just like that,” he managed to pant out. He released Derek’s arm, pressing his hand against Derek’s chest when Derek started to stroke his cock.

Stiles’ back arched, almost painfully, when his orgasm hit. His nails dug into Derek’s chest as he tried to hold on, his thighs shaking as he tried to keep moving to meet Derek’s upward thrusts into him. He was nearly delirious when he almost fell off of Derek and into the bed, only to be eased the rest of the way by Derek.

“Are you okay?” Derek panted, keeping his weight off of Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles panted nodding his head. “Keep going,” he added, his legs falling open to Derek as he ran his hands down Derek’s back.

“I can pull out,” Derek started, about to move away.

“Don’t,” Stiles protested, hooking his legs around Derek’s thighs. “Keep going.”

Derek hesitated before moving once more. He pressed kisses to Stiles’ face before hiding his face in Stiles’ shoulder as his climax built.

Stiles held Derek close, gently running his hand through Derek’s hair when Derek finally came.

“Sorry,” Derek stated as he pushed his weight onto his arms.

“You’re not as heavy as you look,” Stiles comfortingly stated with a smile as he looked up at Derek.

“Should clean up,” Derek commented, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ lips.

“Carry me to the shower,” Stiles stated. He smiled when Derek arched his eyebrows at him. “I’m in the afterglow,” he partially whined, making grabby hands at Derek when he sat up.

Derek slipped the condom off, tossing it into the trash by the bed. “You’re lucky I love you,” he stated, slipping off of the bed before collecting Stiles in his arms.

Stiles partially laughed. “My hero,” he uttered, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck, allowing Derek to pick him up as he pressed a kiss to his lips.

~*~

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t quiet. And it sure as hell wasn’t perfect. But it was _them_. It was home. And that was all that mattered.


End file.
